


Mercury Summer

by RavenZaphara



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: (i want you to believe that even though it's not true i don't know a thing about coding my guy), ;), Also there's no justice in this. we're gonna pretend he went dormant after the end of the game., Anders has a lot of emotions, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, But the end is more bittersweet than anything so please don't let that turn you off, Diary/Journal, Fenders, Fenris is so excited to be a dad, Fucktons of fluff, Grey Wardens, I just needed something trans and wholesome bc there's not enough of that, I lied, Inspired by a song of the same name, Justice is there, M/M, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Rand and Roland are orphans that Fenris and Anders adopt, Romance, Thank you so much for giving this story a chance, The Calling, The Taint, The violence tag is from an account of one of the boys meeting a Templar, There are two versions of the song to complement the two parts of the same story, Trans Male Character, Use your imagination and cry a little with me, Wholesome romantic love, and i totally cried a lot while i wrote to it for six days, because my coding game is strong, he's just............. diluted, i hope you enjoy it as much as I have, it's a labor of love and has been a treat to write, let them be happy, non-sexualized trans character, okay, or that he's just letting anders be for a while., please enjoy these sweet boys, read it for Fenris reading the journal to their child, songs are embedded in the fic at the beginnings of the chapters, thank you for reading my weird shitty tags i hope you enjoy my story i've put so much love into, the character death is due to the Calling, the first version-- the original song-- is reflective of Anders, the second version is acoustic and sounds a lot like Fenris, trans!Anders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13639011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenZaphara/pseuds/RavenZaphara
Summary: "You are absolutely sure you are not mistaken." Fenris' eyes were firm on his lover's, searching for any trace of a joke. Anders' smile widened, his eyes shining with tears. Fenris felt light-headed, and tugged Anders closer into a hug."We're going to be fathers." Anders repeated. "We're going to have a child!"Later that night, once Fenris was asleep, Anders sat at his desk with a hand over his abdomen. In front of him, a blank journal lay next to a fresh inkwell. Anders stared at it. "It can't be any harder than writing an entire Manifesto."He had no idea when the Calling would come. The mental image of Fenris sitting with their child and reading them a journal, telling them "Your papa wrote this for you because he loves you so much." and it brought tears to his eyes. He never wanted to have to leave this future he was carrying, but if he wrote this... maybe it would make up for all the things he'd miss.





	1. ACT ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SEABlRD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEABlRD/gifts).



> okay let's try this again. I tried to post this and it popped an error code sooooooo here it is again
> 
> Short and sweet summary: "Anders anticipates the Calling and wants to make sure there's something left behind that his child can read and remember that he loved them dearly."
> 
> gift for SEABlRD plz check him out he's a great friend and a huge proponent in this highly self-indulgent fic because there's not enough wholesome trans stuff. you can thank him, though, for how sad the story will get in its second act.  
>  
> 
> NOTE: text that's crossed out AND in all caps is not written in the journal, but describing something tucked into the pages. I hope it's not too distracting.

DAY ONE:

I still can’t believe it’s happening! I’d given up on it for a multitude of reasons, and I hadn’t ever dared hope it would happen. But we’re both so excited to meet you. 

I don’t know when you’ll read this. Perhaps I won’t be the only one writing in this book. I’ve been teaching your Father (sorry, had to pause for chills) to read and write, and this seems like a great exercise too!

The more I think about how much there is to teach you, the more daunting a task this journal seems. However, it can’t be any harder than writing my manifesto, so there’s that.

As I sit here, hand over my belly where I know you’re growing, I’m wondering what kind of people we’ll be by the time you’re here. I wonder if I’ll grow a beard, if one day you’ll remember me as fondly as I remember my mother, or… 

I keep trying to picture your Father with a beard, and it’s making me laugh. Such a shame that elves can’t grow facial hair. 

I know I’m all over the place but this is my first entry, I’m excited, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just writing as it comes to me, anything I want you to know one day. Because I won’t always be here. 

I don’t want you to ever think that I don’t love you. So I’m going to document every moment I can, frozen in time on these pages. So that way you’ll always have your Dad. 

* * *

DAY TWO:

Considering that by time you receive this journal you’ll be old enough to understand why it was written, I want to start off by explaining who we were before this. Perhaps explain why you’re such a beautiful surprise, why you matter so very much to us, but especially to your father. 

Fenris and I met ages ago, through a mutual friend named Hawke, though he’s more commonly known as the Champion of Kirkwall. But that’s irrelevant at the moment. 

It was hard times, and your father and I were by no means on good terms. It’s not my place to tell his story, but my own… 

It’s too much to write. I’ll just tell you, have it be that annoying story you’re tired of hearing. You’ll be able to recite it behind my back silently as I tell it to your friends. That idea makes me feel very happy and warm; I think I’ll adhere to it.

I suppose, if nothing else, I can just say that though Fenris and I came from different places and had very little in common on the surface, we both understood what it felt like to feel trapped and desperate for freedom and the freedoms of others trapped in the same mire.

It was hard for us to get on the same page, but I would go to his house frequently with other mutual friends. We’d play cards. Sometimes I’d get a tad too smashed and rather than move me, he’d just leave me in the manor he’d commandeered.

For clarification, his manor was full of corpses of his making. And he’d leave me on the floor amongst them. Sometimes he’d give me a blanket, though, but only later on into our acquaintanceship. 

I like to think I wasn’t the first to develop feelings. Though he’s stoic in nature, when he allows himself to feel, he feels with reckless abandon. After we began to pursue company beyond the card games, that became clear to me. It also became clear to me that I wanted more than anything to be one of those things he was so passionate about.

Even so, Fenris and I were only slowly becoming friends, but when I needed someone most, I chose him. I cried on his doorstep, told him my plans, told him I didn’t expect to survive or be forgiven by some of our other friends.

I had, admittedly, been surprised when he asked how he could help. We talked at length after that. About the Circle, about Tevinter, about so much pain and misery-- and about how we could change things. And he was with me every step of the way.

Afterward, with a price on my head that, were it cashed in, could afford a dozen families to feed their children richly for most if not all their lives, it was Fenris who smuggled me out of Kirkwall.

I still have no clue how he did it so well, but I’ve worn myself out wondering about it. Maybe he’ll tell you. Learn from him, for your own good. 

I’m suddenly exhausted on your behalf. We have so much to teach you. So much. Your father suggested the word "exorbitant." Good luck learning how to talk with him spouting seven-syllable words at you.

We journeyed out to an area far from the Wardens, Kirkwall, or Tevinter. We aimed for somewhere easily patrolled, perhaps built into rocky terrain. 

Should have chosen better area to farm, but we have the sea. We both joke that we can see our pirate queen friend Isabela, and we should immediately hide the alcohol. Oh, I can’t have alcohol anymore. Oh well...

I regret that none of our friends know where we are, or if we’re alive. Especially with you on the way. Hawke would be ecstatic after the disbelief wore off.

Now that I think of our friends, I find myself wanting to cry again. You’re a blessing, but you’re exacerbating my already sometimes volatile emotions. And your father’s use of long words is rubbing off on me, Maker preserve you and I both.

* * *

DAY THREE:

I’ve delivered a great many babies before, but I’m sure it goes without saying that I wasn’t the one who carried them. I have no idea how we’re going to have you.

I brought this up to your father, and he’s been quiet all day. He won’t let me tend to the animals or do any of the work outside for fear of losing you, so I’ve been alone all day trying to think of something that will put him at ease.

There’s a small village not too far away. Maybe a few days’ hike. That might sound bad, but remember we were wanted men, always on the run-- and in Hawke’s company we could stay on the road for weeks at a time. And don’t make me even THINK of the Deep Roads.

When I ran my clinic, at least I was well accustomed to pulling all-nighters on my feet.

However, if I can avoid digressing again, there’s a small town not too far away. Maybe they have a midwife. Maybe they have access to things I’d need to get through this on my own.

If I made a list of the things I’d need, I’m not sure he’d have much ease in reading it. Regular sentences and such, he’s had great luck with, but complicated names of plants and medical implements would probably discourage him…

In any case, I can do what I can. I’ll teach him those words, write out the list, explain what each of them are for… and send him after them, I suppose. I’m not in much hurry. There have been no complications so far.

Ah, that reminds me, though. There are things I need that would discourage any complications from starting. This list is becoming long.

Now we’re both worried.

* * *

~~ FOLDED POEM TUCKED AMONG THE PAGES, WELL-WORN, DETERIORATING AT THE CREASES. THE HANDWRITING IS FIRM BUT EXPERIMENTAL: ~~

 

Ｈｏｗ  ｌｏｎｇ   ~~ ｓｅｎｓ ~~  ｓｉｎｓ Ｉ  ｌａｓｔ  ｓａｉｄ  Ｉ  ｌｏｖ  ｙｏｕ？

Ｈｏｗ  ｌｏｎｇ  ｓｉｎｓ  Ｉ  ｗａｌｋｅｄ  ｔｈｒｏｏ  ｏｒ  ｄｏｏｒ？

Ｉ  ｄｒｅｄ  ｌｅｅｖｉｎｇ  ｎｏｗ， ｂｕｔ  ｗｅ   ｋｎｏ  Ｉ－ｌｌ  ｒｅｔｅｒｎ.

Ｈｏｗ  ｌｏｎｇ  ｂｅｆｏｒ  Ｉ   ~~ ｎｅｋｓｔ ~~  ｃｅｅ  ｙｏｕｒ  ｆａｓｓ？

 

Ｉ  ｗｉｌｌ  ｃｏｍ  ｂａｋ  ｓｏｏｎ．

* * *

DAY FOUR:

Your father and I are both stubborn. Good luck on that. But, I suppose, that means you’ll be stubborn too. I don’t know who should have the good luck, then. I’ve never been one for luck, so…

Honestly, your father and you are the only real instances of good luck I can count, except maybe my friendship with Hawke, which is what introduced me to your father. I suppose, in that case, it’s Hawke’s name I’ll curse when I’m in labor. That’s a riot. 

“This is YOUR fault, you sarcastic sonofabitch! You introduced me to this MADDENING MAN and” Oh I can’t really go on with that. I swear, if I start playing the blame game during the birthing process, I want someone to deck me and remind me to focus.

Not that I ever decked a woman in labor, I just won’t afford myself those hysterics. If I have enough energy to be angry, I can use that energy to push.

Your father insisted on going for supplies. It was harder than I expected, seeing him go. The farm is so empty and lonely… He made sure I had plenty to eat and drink, and commanded that I not push myself taking care of the animals.

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. If he brings a midwife, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

Aside from the taint, there are other reasons I didn’t expect to be pregnant. I transitioned many years ago, but I suppose the constant self-healing kept anything malicious from forming within me and rendering me entirely infertile as well as terminally ill. I was always a bit paranoid about that.

I figured after the Wardens, I was infertile if I wasn’t already from the Change. Turns out I wasn’t! And it seems neither Fenris nor I ever really asked ourselves if we wanted a child because it was a feat we never imagined being possible.

Fenris glows for a couple reasons, but he glows with pride whenever he touches my abdomen. It makes me feel so happy, to a degree I never felt before. You are our future, and we’re both so excited and full of love we can’t wait to share with you.

* * *

DAY FIVE:

When Fenris and I finally began to settle in our home, he was still so jumpy. Every time he’d hear a sound, he’d get up to look around. He didn’t calm down about it for the first year. He was always worried they’d find me.

It was like there was this constant drum beat in our heads. ANXIETY yes that’s the word. I’m glad your father lets me bounce words off him. He’s so eloquent, I’m so lucky. Too bad he’s not here and it took me literally an hour to remember the word “anxiety.”

Anyway, now I understand how he felt. Every time I hear something, I look outside for him, even though it’s only been a day. Sometimes when I tend the animals, I get scared that he won’t be who comes, that the Templars, the Wardens, or the Calling…

It’s going to be alright. I know it’ll be alright.

* * *

DAY SIX:

I keep track in my head when he should be at different parts of his journey. He should be almost to the town, if he’s going regular speed. I kind of hope he’s going faster though. I want him home soon.

I’ve been feeling sick a lot. Makes it a little hard to concentrate. I get especially sick when I tend the animals. The smell of them gets me. I keep eating little things when I can.

I’d sing to calm you down but I think that would only make everything worse. You’re a captive audience, after all. Hopefully I can convince Fenris to sing. He’d likely have a gorgeous voice for it. Maybe I can teach him some of the least vulgar songs from the Wardens.

I miss his voice. It’s been hard to sleep without his hand over my stomach.  

We can get through this. He’d better hurry so we can pick out a name for you.

* * *

DAY SEVEN:

The silence has been getting to me badly. So I’ve taken to talking aloud to you and, my apologies, singing a bit. Anything to cover up how lonely it is. 

If I can judge by how visible I am and how long ago the symptoms started, I should be due when fall begins. If your father were here he’d say that’s fitting, a time of change framing a huge change in our lives.

I’m excited, I just wish I wasn’t so lonely right now. It’s making me crazy.

I’m getting sick ag

* * *

DAY EIGHT:

Woops I forgot to come back to the journal yesterday. I’ve officially begun nesting. I’ve cleaned everything in the house at least four times-- agh but I don’t want to go outside. I need to tend to the animals but I legitimately do not want to even look outside. The vibrancy of the landscape is killing me, making me nauseous. I have no idea. It’s crazy. 

Summer’s new heat and lavish scenery is going to murder me and it won’t be peaceful. I’ll be curled around a chamber pot weeping and dry heaving and then throw up my intestines. 

No, I’m not being serious, that’s just what it feels like.

I’m gonna take a nap.

* * *

DAY TEN:

I missed yesterday because your father did a thing. There are two boys here now. Twins with no family, ten years old at most. One of them is an untrained mage and the other barely talks for stuttering. 

Their names are Rand and Roland. They said the "glowy dalish messere sent them" and I’m going to die from how hard I laughed. They must have thought Fenris’ lyrium tattoos were Dalish, but now I’m imagining him standing a little straighter and getting all prideful at being called messere.

I’m gonna have to call him that sometime just to see his reaction.

Back to these boys, though. Fenris sent them to take care of the hard manual labor. He said he’d rather I not have to do it, and that these boys would be safer with him than in town.

I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean but Roland, the mage, certainly needs training. He’s a bit difficult but I’m sure I can get through to him.

Rand, however… I saw him eying some of my things with blatant curiosity. He stood in front of my bookcase, running his fingers over titles, mouthing the words. I think I have a scholar on my hands.

Rand reminds me of Varric-- if Varric didn’t speak much and his sharp scrutiny was born mostly from fear and wariness. Varric was one of our friends through Hawke, by the way. Maybe one day you’ll meet him. You’ll be taller than him very quickly. That will be funny.

Speaking of Hawke, though, Roland seems like him but instead of that huge red birthmark on the bridge of his nose, he’s got a really nasty scar from the corner of his mouth that curves a bit through his cheek and then dips toward his chin. 

Almost like something ripped… let’s not think about that while I’m cooking dinner.

If I guess right, I think Rand knows a thing or two about patching his brother up. It looks like I have two children to teach. Perfect practice for you.

I wonder if you’ll be a mage.

* * *

DAY ELEVEN:

I said Roland was like Hawke but I’m not so sure now. He’s not cynical enough. Even though these children have obviously survived hardships, he’s not nearly sarcastic enough to be like Hawke. If he’s around me, however, he might soon be. 

Roland told me the story of how he got his scar. It was about a year ago, making them somewhere in the neighborhood of nine years old. Already, my heart aches. They were mucking a stable in exchange for food. They were not allowed to sleep in the barn, so they made a campsite just outside of town, close to the woods where they could gather sticks and leaves. Roland would catch some brush on fire and they’d stay warm. He wasn’t always very good at controlling it, but they were just kids. 

Roland learned pretty quickly how to not let blazes get out of control, but still struggled keeping spells he cast in check. The child has burn scars on his hands and feet. Rand must have learned how to keep infection at bay somewhere, but he doesn’t have any answers for me. Roland said that Rand didn’t always stutter like this, but after he got his scar, it became very noticeably worse. 

There was a Templar. I know this because Roland could detail what the man’s armor looked like in such vivid detail and such a hollow, thousand-yard stare… I can imagine the child has nightmares about this still. It makes his jokes and carefree nature heartbreaking. Maybe this is how Hawke was as a child?

Anyway. There was a Templar. Where he came from or why he was there is irrelevant and unknown. In any case, Roland was noticed somehow. 

The bastard waited until the children were eating the hard, overcooked meat scraps they’d been given. He snuck up then and tried to collar Roland. Rand saw at the last second and screamed.

The noise made Roland jump enough that the collaring attempt failed, especially when Roland followed it up by falling on the ground, inches from the fire, twisting and kicking the man in the face.

The Templar caught his bare foot and squeezed it till it broke. I can’t even imagine that. Rand reached into the fire and grabbed a flaming stick. He tried to hit the Templar while Roland rolled on the ground screaming from the pain.

The Templar was able to bat the stick away without trouble, but Roland tried to cast another fire spell at him. Said he was going to boil him like bad soup. The bastard wasn’t too affected by it. Must have been wearing some kind of ward, or maybe Roland had been too weak from the pain or exhaustion by that point.

Either way, he turned his attention back to Roland, drawing his sword, and Rand threw himself forward again to block him. The Templar picked him up and threw him. Roland thought he was dead. Rand didn’t come back after that and Roland suddenly felt afraid.

Well, past the pain, of course. This child has a frighteningly high pain threshold. If it’s up to me he’ll never have to endure this kind of thing again. I really miss killing Templars right about now.

It gets worse sadly. The Templar tried again to collar Roland, and he said he went into a rage. He bit, he scratched, he screamed. The biting led to the Templar’s hand being in Roland’s mouth, and when he yanked his hand free, the gauntlet tore his mouth open. He says he didn’t feel it. I suspect that could be from the shock or adrenaline.

I can only imagine how horrible it must have looked. 

I asked how he got away. He doesn’t know. He must have been stricken unconscious because he woke up and the Templar was gone. There was no indication he’d died, and Rand was cleaning and patching up the wound well enough that they could leave. How he managed to walk on that foot, I’ll never understand.

Now I wish Rand would talk to me. I feel like he might know what happened. And for some reason, I feel like I need to know. I have this sense of dread.

More than anything, I need to protect these boys.

* * *

DAY TWELVE:

The boys have insisted thus far that sleeping in the hay loft was enough for them, but I insisted last night after dinner that they stay inside. Warm and full as they were, it was easy enough to let them lay on the couch and cover them up.

This morning I drew them both a bath. And while they got clean I made a big breakfast. They seemed happy but also hesitant. These poor sweet boys.

I won’t tell them about the Templars or the Circle right now. I’ll give that plenty of time, once they know they’re safe with me-- with us. 

But I DO, however, need to set some schedule up for them. I’m going to teach these boys. I’ll start with things they need immediately or enjoy, and then I’ll branch out and teach them things that can set them up for later success. Reading, writing, histories, homesteading. Escape arts.

My concept of success is odd and it only just now occurred to me. 

* * *

DAY THIRTEEN:

Fenris should have been back by now. I hope nothing went wrong. To keep from stressing myself out, I’ve thrown myself fully into teaching and keeping house. The vibrancy and brightness outside still make me sick, so the boys tend to all the chores outside.

After dinner, when darkness begins to fall, I’ve taken the boys outside and let them play while I watch over them. I’ve also taken to whittling a staff for Roland. I wonder what kind of weapon Rand would need… Judging from how he moves, how quiet he is… I want to say he’d make a great rogue. I wish I knew how to teach him proper bowmanship. 

I caught Rand looking through my books. It’s as I suspected. He knows how to read quite well. When I asked Roland about that, he said that’s how they met “the good messere” which made me snort. Apparently your father was stumped with one of the words on the list, and where to obtain some of them, and Rand read the list and took him where he needed to go. Didn’t speak a word, but I imagine Roland made up for that.

Perhaps some speech therapy would be in order. Since the stammering worsened so badly after the incident with the Templar, I’m wondering if it is a psychological or trauma-related thing. If Rand cannot talk due to a head injury sustained that night, that would make sense, however he was clearly lucid enough to save his brother’s life.

I’m going to show Roland how to finish this staff, have him work on it, and sit down with Rand and a good book or two. If he can read plant names and other things on that list well enough and quickly enough, I’m absolutely certain he’s able to comprehend my books on medicine. Even without magic, I’m sure he could be a wonderful healer.

I’m glad one of them has a knack for it. That’s the biggest reason they’re not dead.

* * *

DAY FOURTEEN:

The lessons went shockingly well. I understand this boy so much better now. He’s been at work reading everything he can get his hands on in between meals and chores. 

Roland seemed grumpy about a change in the routine, but when I told him how amazingly he was getting on with that staff, told him how I’d have to get him his very own set of carving knives, he positively GLOWED and since then has been constantly doing things with one eye on me. 

He’s desperate for approval. They both are. This is heartbreaking, too.

Oh my god, I’ve adopted two children and have one on the way. Where the fuck is your father? He did this to me.

* * *

DAY FIFTEEN:

Still no word from Fenris. I’ve felt sick all day. The boys were worried. They’ve been hovering. Roland told Rand to help him cook something and I feared the worst, but apparently, roughing it for so long as well as watching me cook a few times has taught them what they needed to know well enough that the food was only slightly singed and the eggshells were minimal. 

I didn’t feel hungry until after I ate the first bite. Then I ate everything in sight. My appetite is increasing again. 

I need to teach these children how to cook with seasonings and spices, however. Maybe teach them how to make sweets. That would be fun and might satisfy their needs for attention, interaction, and with the added sweet reward.

I’m scared something happened to Fenris. He wouldn’t stay gone for this long otherwise. What could have happened to him?

Please let him come back.

* * *

DAY SIXTEEN:

My stomach has been growing noticeably lately. When he gets home, I’ll be all bulbous and gassy. Lovely.

The boys know I’m preoccupied with something but I’m afraid to tell them I’m scared Fenris “the good messere” Glowy-Dalish is in one of a million different horrible nightmare scenarios I keep cycling through. Slavers, Templars interested in his markings, bounty hunters, suspicious villagers-- just to name the most prominent ones. 

Lessons continue, even still. Today, I’m going to make some wooden daggers for Rand and have the boys play-fight. 

My mind goes back to a set one of my Warden friends had had. The handles had been made from antlers, and the blades had senseless runes carved in them. They were beautiful, yes, but absolutely useless in the first battle. Lucky I’m a healer.

Fenris would probably be the best person to talk to about weapons. If he were here. I’m becoming bitter. He’d better be here soon. 

Agh, I can’t pretend to be upset, really. He has to have a good reason. After all the stuff we’ve been through, all the hell and sacrifices… he wouldn’t just leave me here to raise three children on my own, would he?

Of course he wouldn’t. There’s a perfect explanation somewhere. I just have to wait for it.

Would it kill him to send a message?

* * *

DAY SEVENTEEN:

I feel odd today. Like there’s a storm coming. I don’t like it.

I’ve been very forgetful lately. That’s common, as far as I know, but it’s also incredibly annoying and frustrating. I think I’m worrying the boys a lot.

It’s taking monumental effort to move today.

The boys have decided it’s too dangerous for me to walk today. Roland is taking care of the chores outside while Rand tends to the house and makes some lunch using a battered old recipe card from the little drawer in the bottom shelf of my bookshelf. I use it like a filing cabinet, one side for salves and things like that, the other for edibles, sorted by meal.

He’s been reading literally everything he can get his hands on. This journal might not be safe. However, Rand knows the sanctity of privacy. If he reads this, I assume it would be out of wariness. In his position, I’d want to know what the tall, sickly, pregnant man was planning for my brother and I.

Back to the subject. He’s done rummaging in the cabinets for pots and ingredients. And now for a new surprise. 

I don’t think he knows I can hear him singing. He doesn’t stammer when he sings, and his voice is so sweet. Oh, maker, I’m crying now. I’ve got to dry myself up before he sees me and asks what’s wrong-- then again. I’m pregnant. I cry a lot. 

I’m glad the boys don’t ask questions or… I’m not sure how the bodily changes are making me feel. I’m confused when I look in the mirror. Luckily-- or not!-- my chest isn’t growing, but I can’t help but feel like I’d be far less dysphoric if your father was here.

I don’t like the word “pregnant.” You’re worth it, you really are. And I can’t wait to have you. I just… never really psyched myself up for this and I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never encountered a pregnant man before and so have no frame of reference for it and it’s starting to get to me and I’m so glad these boys don’t treat me differently.

Dammit I’m crying again.

* * *

~~ NOTES WRITTEN IN FLOWERY, OSTENTATIOUS SCRIPT ON RELATIVELY CHEAP PAPER IN BLACK INK. THERE ARE FAT FINGERPRINTS IN INK ON THE MARGINS, AND A SCRIBBLED “oops, fuck” UNDER ONE: ~~

Dearest Anders,

All your man are belong to us.

Okay, sorry, Hawke made me write that. I feel like vomiting just from how disgusting the grammar is.

By time you get this, it’ll be directly from my hand. So please don’t kick me too hard. We’re all a little worse for wear. Fenris didn’t give us much time to rest, just rounded us up and demanded we come with him or he’d do us bodily harm. You know, the usual.

He let me finish my beer first, so I’m writing this while I drink leisurely. He told me you’re writing some kind of project. Like a memory project or some shit. So allow me to attribute to it. I know we might not have been the best of friends in our Kirkwall expenditures, but I certainly didn’t hate you. Might have thought you crazy, but who didn’t, seriously? 

Anyway, I’m pretty sloshed, candle’s burning low, and I’m not looking forward to the trip. He said it’ll take about a week. Whatever’s going on, it’d better be good.

He’s in an awful hurry, I know that. 

Whatever you’re up to when you reread this “memory” shit, I hope you’re well, happy, and… I guess blond. I’m either too drunk for this or not drunk enough. I’m leaning toward the latter.

Also, I’m going to give you a signed copy of my latest book. You’re welcome.

Your favorite dwarf,

Varric

* * *

~~ NOTES WRITTEN ON CHEAP PAPER IN BLUE INK THAT SMELLS JUST TOXIC ENOUGH TO BE HOMEMADE FROM WILD COMMON FLOWERS NATIVE TO THE SUNDERMOUNT, THE HANDWRITING IS FLOWY AND COMFORTABLE. IN OTHER WORDS, THE WRITER WAS CLEARLY NOT INEBRIATED AT ALL. REFRESHING. ~~

Anders!

Fenris found me in a small town far from Kirkwall somehow and demanded I help round everyone up. You’ll not believe the antics I had to go to to locate Isabela for him, but that’s beside the point. I was glad to help, if only because Fenris didn’t seem disgusted with me for once. Is he sick?

Are  you sick? 

Why is he so desperate for everyone to come visit you, and even more, write you letters? He said it was some kind of project you’re working on, but that raises more questions than anything.

I’ve been well in the past few years. A few rough patches, me being a rogue mage of… my caliber. I’m not saying your actions made my life a little harder, but it certainly has made it more exciting. I left Kirkwall with some of the other denizens of the Alienage, and we all set up in a little village that I suppose isn’t too far from wherever you are.

If it’s near, I’ll have to visit much more often!

Merrill

* * *

~~ NOTES WRITTEN IN HURRIED HANDWRITING ON CRUMPLED PAPER THAT LOOKS SUSPICIOUSLY LIKE WHAT MERRILL WROTE ON IN INK OF THE SAME MANNER: ~~

Anders,

Good to hear you’re alive. Merrill insists I write something, but you know I’m more of a girl of action. As soon as she looks away I’m going to finish writing, fold it up, and tell her not to read it because it’s too personal. Do me a favor and read it silently when you get it and pretend it’s the most touching thing you’ve ever read. 

There’s a good boy. I’m winking at you.

Dammit when is she going to quit paying atten

Isabela.

* * *

~~ NOTES WRITTEN IN CRISP, CLEARLY LEGIBLE HANDWRITING ON NO-NONSENSE PAPER THAT WOULD BE MOST COMMONLY FOUND ON A DESK IN A STATE OFFICE: ~~

Anders,

You’re not dead yet? I really don’t know how to feel about this. Donnic says I have to go because HE wants to go, and he won’t leave me behind because I’m pregnant. Also, I wouldn’t let him go without me even if he wanted to. A walk won’t hurt.

Fenris won't explain anything and I have a really bad feeling about it. Also, is there some relevance to writing a letter?

I really could smack you for all the havoc you caused here. But since Fenris seems to be guarding you, I suppose my work’s cut out for now.

When the hell and HOW did the two of you get close. And also Why do you want me there?!

Reluctant companion,

Aveline.

* * *

~~ NOTES WRITTEN IN LESS ARTICULATE HANDWRITING ON THE SAME PAPER AND INK: ~~

Anders.

This is a lot of trouble to put Fenris through for a good game of cards. I’m sure it’ll be worth it. 

I’ve been informed this isn’t about cards.

Okay… I sense this is important to Fenris, though I can’t help but feel… 

Maker, Anders, you too? Children everywhere, soon, so it would seem. 

I don’t like writing.

Donnic.

* * *

~~ PAPER THAT HAS CREASES FROM BEING FOLDED UP VERY SMALL AND STOWED AGAINST THE BODY. IT STILL SMELLS FAINTLY OF SOFT PERFUME. THE HANDWRITING IS SMALL BUT CLEAR. THIS IS SOMEONE WHO TAKES A LOT OF NOTES AND USES ALL PAPER-SPACE POSSIBLE TO CONSERVE RESOURCES: ~~

Anders,

I really wish I could come with everyone to visit you. I had a soft spot for both you and Fenris, and in the letter Garrett sent me he mentioned you might be carrying!

First of all, I’m surprised, mostly in that it’s taken this long. Remember how I said you remind me of Garrett and my father? I doubly reinforce that. You’re going to be an amazing father. And if that child is a mage, they’ll have that luxury of being taught with love and safety.

The idea of you two with children makes my heart ache. You both deserve this joy so much, and I’m so glad it’s finally come to you.

I’ve kept Ella in the loop. She harbors no ill-will for you. She asks about you sometimes, since Hawke and Varric send me notes that keep tabs on everyone. We both send our love and good wishes.

The Circle won’t break us. I promise. So don’t worry please. 

Feel free to write me, and I’ll do the same. 

Your friend,

Bethany

* * *

 

~~ AMEL CREST IN VIOLET INK UPON CRISP STATIONARY. THE ONLY NOTE IN AN ENVELOPE. GARRETT SHOULD WORK ON HIS HANDWRITING. ~~

First off, congratulations. Second off, how the fresh hell was I found? I’ve been laying low for months. I know I stick out like a sore thumb but this is ridiculous.

I’m tempted to bring my dog, but I know how you are. So I’ll bring you a nice mouser. You like tabbies, right? My memory isn’t the greatest sometimes. That’s what Varric is for.

Honestly I’m thrilled to explore again. This sentiment will last maybe one day into the journey unless I find an absolute fuckload to loot on the way. Here’s hoping.

Fenris is worried sick about you. While everyone’s rounding up, I’m keeping him busy by making him write. Helping him with spelling.

Do you have an affinity for blue or purple? He’s hoarding things to give you and they’re all those two colors. I wouldn’t be worried if it weren’t for the fact he’s probably going to make me carry some of it.

I have enough baggage, thank you.

Name your child "Justice." I dare you.

Garrett.

P.S. i tried to get the dog to put an ink pawprint on here so my signature would look less lonely, but instead it’s now all over my carpets. For some ungodly reason, I choose to blame Varric.

P.S.S. what the hell does P.S. stand for? Or P.S.S.? Why do I not know this?

P.S.S.S. Post-sequitur? Is that it? What about the extra S’s? 

* * *

~~ HAWKE’S INK AND STATIONARY. FENRIS’ HANDWRITING. IT IS GETTING MORE CONFIDENT. HE’S LIKELY DRAFTED THIS MULTIPLE TIMES, WITH HAWKE EDITING AND TEACHING HIM ALONG THE WAY. ~~

 

Ｌｏｖｅ，

 

Ｉ ａｍ  ｓｏｒｒｙ ｉｔ  ｈａｓ  ｔａｋｅｎ  ｓｏ  ｌｏｎｇ． Ｅｖｅｒｙ  ｄａｙ ｉｓ  ａｇｏｎｙ  ｗｉｔｈｏｕｔ  ｙｏｕ． Ｉ  ｈｏｐｅ ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ  ｉｓ  ｗｅｌｌ．

 

Ｉ ｈａｖｅ  ｂｅｅｎ  ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ  ｈａｒｄ  ａｌｌ  ｔｈｉｓ  ｔｉｍｅ． Ｉ  ｍａｙ  ｈａｖｅ  ａ  ｆｅｗ  ｐｏｔｅｎｔｉａｌ  ｎａｍｅｓ  ａｔ ｈａｎｄ． Ｉ  ｗｏｕｌｄ  ｌｉｋｅ  ｔｏ  ｄｉｓｃｕｓｓ  ｔｈｅｍ  ｗｉｔｈ ｙｏｕ．

 

Ｉ  ｈｏｐｅ  ｔｈｅ  ｃｈｉｌｄｒｅｎ  Ｉ  ｓｅｎｔ  ｙｏｕ  ｈａｖｅ  ｎｏｔ  ｗｏｒｒｉｅｄ  ｙｏｕ  ｍｕｃｈ  ａｎｄ  ｈａｖｅ  ｄｏｎｅ  ｔｈｅ  ｗｏｒｋ  Ｉ  ａｓｋｅｄ  ｓｏ  ｙｏｕ  ｍａｙ  ｒｅｓｔ． 

 

Ｍｙ  ｎｅｒｖｅｓ  ｈａｖｅ  ｂｅｅｎ  ａ  ｃｏｎｓｔａｎｔ  ｉｓｓｕｅ ｓｉｎｃｅ  Ｉ  ｌｅｆｔ  ａｎｄ  ｅｖｅｒｙ  ｄａｙ  ｐｕｔｓ  ｍｅ  ｃｌｏｓｅｒ  ｔｏ  ｓｎａｐｐｉｎｇ．  Ｉ  ｎｅｅｄ  ｔｏ ｃｏｍｅ  ｈｏｍｅ  ｔｏ  ｙｏｕ，  ｂｕｔ  Ｉ  ｍｕｓｔ  ｓｔｉｌｌ  ｗａｉｔ  ｆｏｒ  Ｉｓａｂｅｌａ  ａｎｄ  Ｍｅｒｒｉｌｌ  ｔｏ  ｍｅｅｔ  ｕｓ． 

 

Ｉｔ  ｉｓ ｓｔｒａｎｇｅ．  Ｉ  ｎｅｖｅｒ  ｇａｖｅ  ｇｉｆｔｓ．  Ｉ  ｎｅｖｅｒ  ｃｏｎｓｉｄｅｒｅｄ  ｉｔ  ｍｕｃｈ．   Ｉ  ｈａｖｅ  ｈａｄ  ｖｅｒｙ  ｆｅｗ  ｔｈｉｎｇｓ  ｇｉｖｅｎ  ｔｏ  ｍｅ． Ｙｏｕ  ｈａｖｅ  ｇｉｖｅｎ  ｍｅ  ｔｈｅ  ｇｒｅａｔｅｓｔ  ｇｉｆｔ  Ｉ  ｃｏｕｌｄ  ｅｖｅｒ  ｈａｖｅ  ａｓｋｅｄ ｆｏｒ ｈａｄ  Ｉ  ｅｖｅｒ  ｉｍａｇｉｎｅｄ．  Ｉ  ｋｅｅｐ  ｓｅｅｉｎｇ  ｔｈｉｎｇｓ  ａｎｄ  ｔｈｉｎｋｉｎｇ  ｙｏｕ  ｗｏｕｌｄ  ｌｉｋｅ  ｔｈｅｍ．

 

Ｓｅｂａｓｔｉａｎ  ｓｔｉｌｌ  ｈａｓ   ｎｏｔ  ｎｏｔｉｃｅｄ  ｈｏｗ  ｌｉｇｈｔ  ｈｉｓ  ｍｏｎｅｔａｒｙ  ｌｏａｄ  ｉｓ  ｎｏｗ．  Ｉｆ  ｈｅ  ｈａｓ，  ｈｅ  ｈａｓ  ｙｅｔ  ｔｏ  ｓａｙ  ｓｏ．  Ｉ  ａｍ  ｖｅｒｙ  ｄｉｓａｐｐｏｉｎｔｅｄ  ｉｎ  ｈｉｍ．  Ｉ  ａｍ  ｖｅｒｙ  ｓａｔｉｓｆｉｅｄ  ｔｈａｔ  ｗｈｅｎ  Ｉ  ｔｏｌｄ  ｈｉｍ  ｈｅ  ｗｏｕｌｄ  ｐａｙ  ｄｅａｒｌｙ  ｆｏｒ  ｔｈｅ  ｉｎｓｕｌｔ  ａｇａｉｎｓｔ  ｙｏｕ，  ｈｅ  ｈａｄ  ｎｏ  ｉｄｅａ  ｈｏｗ  ｌｉｔｅｒａｌｌｙ  Ｉ  ｍｅａｎｔ  ｉｔ．

 

Ｈａｗｋｅ  ｋｅｅｐｓ  ｒｅｍｉｎｄｉｎｇ  ｍｅ  ｔｈａｔ  ｔｈｉｓ  ｌｅｔｔｅｒ  ｗｉｌｌ  ｒｅａｃｈ  ｙｏｕ  ａｔ  ｔｈｅ  ｓａｍｅ  ｔｉｍｅ  ｗｅ  ｗｉｌｌ．  Ｈｅ  ｓａｙｓ  ｔｈａｔ  ｔｈｉｓ  ｉｓ  ｓｏｍｅｔｈｉｎｇ  ｙｏｕ  ｏｒ  ｏｕｒ  ｃｈｉｌｄ  ｗｉｌｌ  ｌｏｏｋ  ａｔ   ｏｎｅ  ｄａｙ  ｆａｒ  ｆｒｏｍ  ｎｏｗ．  Ｉ  ｃａｎ  ｏｎｌｙ  ｈｏｐｅ  ｙｏｕ  ｒｅａｄ  ｉｔ  ａｎｄ  ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ  ｈｏｗ  ｍｕｃｈ  Ｉ  ｌｏｖｅ  ｙｏｕ．  Ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ  ｈｏｗ  ｅｘｃｉｔｅｄ，  ａｎｘｉｏｕｓ，  ａｎｄ  ｗｏｒｒｉｅｄ  Ｉ ａｍ,  ａｓ  ｗｅｌｌ  ａｓ  ｈｏｗ  ｅａｇｅｒ  Ｉ  ａｍ  ｔｏ  ｒｅｔｕｒｎ．

 

Ｉ  ｗｏｕｌｄ  ｖｅｒｙ  ｍｕｃｈ  ｌｉｋｅ  ｔｏ  ｔｈｒｏｔｔｌｅ  Ｉｓａｂｅｌａ  ａｎｄ  Ｍｅｒｒｉｌｌ  ｆｏｒ  ｔａｋｉｎｇ  ｓｏ  ｌｏｎｇ．

 

Ｙｏｕｒ  ｈｕｓｂａｎｄ，

Ｆｅｎｒｉｓ

* * *

DAY TWENTY ~~(FLOWER BLOOMS OF DIFFERENT COLORS ARE PRESS-PRESERVED IN BETWEEN THE NEXT PAGES.)~~

I was absent from writing for a few days. I’m sorry. But your father made me cry, it’s his fault.

Two days ago, in the small hours of the night, there was a loud commotion outside, waking the boys, but not me.

Now, less worrisome children would have woken the practiced and capable battlemage instead of handling it themselves. These children are worrisome.

I woke up to absolute chaos as a huge explosion erupted outside. I’m VERY glad I only gave Rand wooden weapons and not blades, because he knocked Varric out.

Yes, okay. So I woke up, rushed out, and saw Fenris holding Roland by his shirt like a kitten is held by their scruff. Roland looks absolutely sheepish. 

Rand, meanwhile, is still wailing on anyone he can reach. This happens to be Donnic, who decided to sweep Rand’s feet and when he hit the ground with an indignant squawk, picked him up by the feet and dangled him in the air.

I yelled and made myself known, since it took about that long for the shock to wear off. Roland slipped out of Fenris’ grip and hid behind me. Rand took a kidney shot at Donnic and yelped when the armor didn’t give. Fenris reached out and took the child, spinning him to set him on his feet, then kept him steady.

Rand chose this moment to look up and see Fenris and he went so pale I thought he’d puke. Fenris smiled at him. "I am glad I left him in good hands."

At the sound of his voice I started crying and shoved someone out of the way to hug him. That turned out to be Hawke. I’m glad he was a good sport about it.

Everything turned into kind of a blur after that. I’ll try not to leave anything out.

Everyone gave me their letters, and I absolutely wept like a child when I read them. The ones that got me the worst were Bethany’s (Garrett’s sister who couldn’t make it) and your father’s. 

Aveline and Donnic, one of whom I’ve mentioned, are guards in Kirkwall. Aveline and I never got along the best, but Donnic and I played cards together often at your father’s house before we began being contrite to one another.

I’ve never seen Aveline this happy. Or this… casual. She’s pregnant too, and though her note asked why she had to come along, she admitted once she got here that she’d have refused to stay behind. We finally have something in common, which definitely struck a chord for her finally. 

The real cincher was when she started drooling as soon as Merrill and I started cooking. Her feet were rightfully sore and swollen, so she couldn’t help us out, but my kitchen is very small anyway.

Normally the boys would help me, but Rand was very apologetically trying to rouse Varric enough to make sure he wasn’t concussed or hemorrhaging. Roland, meanwhile, was making fast friends with Hawke. There were stars in the kid’s eyes.

Isabela tried to stay away from the kids at first, but then started helping Rand with Varric. There was a shift in her as soon as she recognized that he had a speech problem. Our eyes met and I’ve never seen her so serious.

Later that morning, I heard her talking to him about something. I swear I don’t usually eavesdrop, but I was unsure if she was teaching him something I’d have to discourage. Like armed robbery or something.

She was telling him there were exercises he could do to help him control how he spoke. She said she stammered whenever she was nervous-- so she learned to not be nervous. The sounds that give her trouble, she avoids if at all possible, and she admits that it got much better as she grew up.

She also said something to the effect of "even if it doesn’t get better, that’s okay. The people who mind don’t matter, the ones who matter won’t mind. And if they want to be dicks about it, stab ‘em in the kidneys."

I’m going to kill her, Isabela gave him knives. I looked in on him when he went back to bed and he was cradling them like a hug-pillow in his sleep. At least they’re sheathed but SERIOUSLY these are things she should tell me beforehand!!

Merrill has been such a big help. She admitted the house was very clean, but it didn’t stop her from cleaning even more. Merrill and I didn’t get along very well before. An at-core difference in values is how I’d like to say it-- but really it’s just.

She did blood magic. Like it’s no big deal. We had some… tense interactions about it. I feel bad about it now, somewhat. I told her so and she waved me off. And then she went outside and started picking flowers. 

She came back in not too long after that with a huge armful of flowers, sat down and started weaving them into really intricate crowns. I think I’ll press a few blooms in this book.

She put one crown on me and the other on Fenris and then exclaimed we were married now, sorry, she didn’t make the rules. We just laughed about it and broke it to her that we already married a few years ago. She was very disappointed that she wasn’t there for it and that we didn’t wear cute flower crowns.

Fenris does look adorable in flowers, honestly. 

OH! And Hawke brought me a kitten! He has a fixation on the kids already. I hope that means he’ll love you too. I’ve also caught Fenris playing with her, though he tries so hard to make sure I’m not around to see. 

He might as well get used to everyone knowing he’s a softie under all that deadpan snark, brooding disposition, and impressive musculature. His broadsword is almost as big as him! How is he not built like a horse with muscle bulk? The answer: if there is a Maker, he loves me.

I like being able to put my arms around him. He’s perfect. Also I like being taller because it frustrates him. He’s adorable.

I missed having him touching my belly while we slept. I seriously started crying from it and couldn’t sleep. And the next morning he told me I’d gone from heaving sobs to snoring deeply. I believe it.

I’m not usually one to snore unless I’m beyond the point of exhaustion, or in this case, sleeping much more deeply than accustomed because I feel safe.

I almost forgot. Enough presents were brought that several of our visiting friends were carrying packs and satchels full of things either they or Fenris brought from Kirkwall. My house is very cluttered right now, but I’ll take care of that after everyone goes home.

I’m very tired just from writing this. Donnic and Aveline are going home tomorrow, but everyone else is sticking around until they feel like leaving. Varric is waiting for Hawke, Merrill is fascinated with my livestock and herb garden, Isabela has been coaching Rand with speaking. She doesn’t get frustrated, and when he does, she knows how to diffuse it.

I need to take note of what she’s doing but… it’s not exactly my realm of expertise and if I tried to replicate her it would likely do more harm than good. 

Your father has taken note of how tired I am, so he’s told me for a fourth time to wrap it up and come to bed. Belly rubs and snuggles sounds fucking divine right now.

Wish I knew what I did to deserve this so I could do it a million times more. 

* * *

DAY TWENTY-ONE:

Merrill helps the boys with the chores outside. I think Roland has a crush on her. I told her not to teach him blood magic. He asked her over breakfast about her tattoos. I think he wants a set.

Someone protect this poor boy, he’s the type to do it to himself sight-unseen with regular ink, poison himself, shit his literal guts out and then TRY IT AGAIN. He’s not stupid by any stretch. He’s just stubborn and self-sufficient.

Bless Merrill for explaining the cultural stuff behind the tattoos and that the ink they used for it was only to be handled by the Dalish. She must have picked up on my fears because she also told him they have to be done by a Dalish elder, but I don’t know enough about the Dalish to know if she’s just helping me out or if it’s really the case.

Fenris has taken my adopting the boys in stride, surprisingly. I caught him talking to Hawke and Varric, asking if they were able to fund expanding the house to hold four new rooms. I didn’t expect Hawke to jump on it so quickly. And I didn’t expect Varric to immediately start assessing the grounds, see how easy/cheap it would be before remarking that he’d fund two rooms, no more.

Hawke not only funded the other two, but said we needed a fence around the property so the animals could roam further out. This man must be lonely and bored in addition to wealthy. I don’t think he intends to go home any time soon. 

Varric said he’ll take note of everything and go home to round up the best in construction, rustle up some non-disclosure agreements, and that he’d bring them back before heading home (to a bar) to stay for once. I don’t carry beer, he’s not staying indefinitely.

Plus he likes to feel important. He has no contacts out here in the middle of nowhere. He’s too prideful to admit he misses being noticed for something other than being a dwarf in a largely Fereldan area.

Your father has taken to leaning on the chair I sit in, head on my shoulder, watching me write, hands always on my stomach.

It’s as I previously figured. I feel much better about it all with him here, most of the time. Sometimes the contrast between how I expect to see myself and the way I actually do is disorienting and causes a pang in my chest but Fenris always makes it better. I don’t think he even means to do it. He’s just naturally so reassuring to me.

I’ve begun to feel your stirrings at some point. It’s such a strange sensation, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so overwhelmed or joyful before.

As nice as it is to have company and help around the house, I’ll be glad when everyone goes home so your father and I can just relax together for a moment. The boys are staying, of course. I won’t allow them to leave unless they make a very compelling case as to why they must go.

I don’t know how often I’ll update now that Fenris is home. Summer will be over sooner than I can prepare myself. We’ll have construction everywhere, hopefully it’ll be done by time fall begins so the constant hammering and yammering won’t keep you awake.

I was about to end this note but I just saw your father walk around the house sleepily with the kitten draped across his shoulders like a scarf. I can hear the purs from here but I’m not sure which of them is doing it.

It was both my heart can’t take this.

* * *

DAY ??? I SEEM TO HAVE LOST COUNT.

You kicked your father’s hand because he was talking to you while we were lying down. I had never seen him cry like that before.

The boys like to poke you sometimes, but have learned to ask me first. I blame the hormones but they really should have known better than to bombard me like that. We all laughed so hard about it after I stopped crying.

It was right after dinner, both of them started poking me while I was trying to clear the table. I opened my mouth to yell and burped loud and long enough to move Roland’s hair. And then I started bawling and I don’t even know why exactly.

Your father and I sat down to discuss names. My stipulation is it needs to be relatively flexible in gender. There’s a reason I changed mine, obviously. If there was a possibility you’re like me in that way, I want you to still feel comfortable.

Anyway, a few minutes into the talk, we both realized neither of us have a surname to give you. There were a few suggestions, but neither of us were quite feeling it. 

And then Roland spoke up and we realized the boys had been there the whole time. And these BOYS can you imagine what they said???

Roland pointed at Rand and said "when one of the construction men asked him who we were, he said we were Rand and Roland Anderson."

Anderson. ANDERSON. I’m going to cry.

I asked why not Fenrison, and Roland shrugged. He said I’d taken care of them, and while they saw us both as worthy guardians, they just knew me better. Plus it flows better. Rand can’t say Fenris as well as he can say my name.

I’m going to dehydrate from how much I am crying. I am a raisin covered in snot and saltwater. Gross. I’m going to go get a bath.

* * *

DAY ??? A DAY OR THREE AFTER THE LAST ENTRY, I THINK.

Construction is done! Hawke and Varric showed up with a literal wagon full of furniture, and not just for the nursery. Beds for the twins, a new bed for us, a clawfoot tub to replace the oversized bucket we use. This will be much more comfortable for me while I’m so big. It holds so much more water though!

Merrill came to visit because these things happen in threes, and she and Hawke have spent a lot of time talking. Something tells me she’ll be going home with him. I hope so. I’ve certainly heard of stranger couples. Namely another tattooed elf and a man with a tragic backstory and an affinity for snark.

The boys are ecstatic about their room. Once they grow up a bit more, I’ll change the guest room into another bedroom for one of them, but until then neither of them want to be alone.

Rand has been asking me if Isabela will ever come back. I think he was smitten. Help my boys, they both are attracted to trouble.

Oh, no, he’s informed me he doesn’t like girls like that. He just wants to show off how much better he can talk now. I’m so relieved.

Nevermind, he wants to be like Isabela, this is even worse. Attraction I can understand, but idolizing her?! Please, Maker, let him grow out of it.

Hawke and Merrill have been teaching the boys how to use their new (courtesy of Hawke) weapons, since I’m in no shape to and Fenris has been too busy trying to be in a million places at once.

Varric has asked to read my journal for inspiration on a plot idea. I told him to stop making character copies of me and killing them, then maybe we’d talk. Not everyone has to die at the end. It becomes predictable after a point.

One day he might offer you a fat stack of gold for this book. That’s your decision, but know you might never get it back.

One day, maybe by time you read this, I’ll be gone. This might be all that’s left of me.

* * *

DAY ??? IT’S BEEN MAYBE A MONTH. I AM VERY ROUND AND FORGETFUL.

You’ll never guess who turned up today. The boys came and got me, silent, pale, and eyes bugging. I expected the worst, roused your father, and then when we went into the kitchen, where the boys were pointing, a familiar smell hit me and I held Fenris back before he could attack.

The Goddamn Warden themself. In my house unannounced. The smell was them COOKING. In my kitchen. Where they got lamb, I’ll never know. 

Years ago, I’d been grumpy and depressed because the nightmares started and I wasn’t sleeping well because of it. They made this omelet kind of thing with lamb and herbs and cheese-- and here they were doing it again, years later.

I drowned it in lamb sauce and pepper juice.

It won’t be much longer. They said so. They also said their baby sense was tingling and they followed it all the way here. Personally, I think they’re full of nug shit, but…

They’re going to stay in the guest room until I deliver. They’ve helped with that before, so I’m not as scared. 

However, they keep telling Highly Embarrassing stories from when I was in the Wardens. They might not survive until you’re birthed.

I hope you piss or vomit on them.

It won’t be much longer, so please ease up on kicking my bladder. 


	2. Lupa Anderson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Fenris, it's your turn to keep the journal."
> 
> "I thought it was yours."
> 
> "Dammit."
> 
> "I will take over dinner for a minute while you write?"
> 
> "Okay... that'll work."
> 
> "Take Lulu with you, please. I need hands with which to cook."
> 
> "C'mon, little Lu, it's time for Papa to monologue on paper."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my job is hell on creativity and i also hit a wall so this is going to be a jumping point. instead of writing out a bunch of monologues that amount to the same message just with different paraphrasing or going through a literal few years of character growth, I'm just going to post this chapter and then work on the next, which will detail the bittersweet parts.
> 
> remember that anything stricken out in the story is describing something tucked into the journal or explaining what's different about the following entries.
> 
> double spacing means it's a new entry on presumably a different day.

~~Birth certificate, signed by the Warden. A large crest is doodled on the top right corner, surprisingly good detailing, with an emblazoned “A” at its center.~~

Lupa Anderson

~~Adoption certificates for Roland and Rand, formalizing their use of the surname Anderson. The same crest is doodled on the top right corners. How many times had the Warden drawn this beforehand to be able to do it so consistently now?~~

~~Homemade paper from lavender pulp. It’s written in some goddawful cipher-- oh, no, that’s just their handwriting when they’re not actively trying to make it legible. It is physically painful to try to read. Literally, upon unfolding this letter, your stomach begins to cramp and your eyes want to look anywhere else.~~

 

**~~YEAR ONE: FENRIS~~ **

_**Year One; Winter** _

I have been writing more and more this past year, and so now I am confident enough to continue this journal. You, Lupa Anderson, are currently as of my writing this, in the lap of your loving father, Anders. You are so tiny, so fragile. You have my eyes and strong nose, but no hair as of yet. You have his smile already, his joyous disposition.

You smile every time I talk. Both of you do, and it makes me very happy. I never would have imagined myself on a farm in the middle of nowhere with two sons and a daughter but just because I never planned it does not mean I am not immensely proud.

Andraste bless Anders for helping me with the spelling. He is so patient as I call to him about every other word, just to make sure. This journal is very important to him, and by extension myself. One day, I would like it to be important to you as well.

You are so beautiful. We have found it difficult to put you down to even sleep. Not just Anders and I, but the boys as well. They hover around you, talking to you. Anders has encouraged Rand to sing, too.

I can only imagine my face when I heard him. Roland even seemed a little surprised. Apparently he has been improving a lot since they started staying here, but he tried to sing when no one else was around.

 

~~CONTINUED NOTE IN FENRIS’ MUCH-IMPROVED HANDWRITING WITH ANDERS’ REPLY INSCRIBED HASTILY AND SLOPPILY BELOW. THE RESULT OF A MAN ATTEMPTING TO WRITE WHILE CAREFULLY HOLDING A BABY.~~

Your Papa has been looking at me strangely. I have taken to adopting occasional contractions in my speech, and it throws him off. The fact of it is no one else in this house speaks as I do, and it’s frankly annoying to write without contractions as well.

I just wish Anders wouldn’t stare so. He blinks owlishly at me and asks "Who are you?"

_Oh, ha ha. Puns and deadpan humor work SO well with you._

Sarcasm and vomit work well on you.

_**Year One; Spring** _

I’ve had to wear you on a backpack sling while I tend to the farm. The boys are very sick, and Anders has been working round-the-clock to keep them alive. It doesn’t look good.

I feel helpless and angry, and so I’m working the farm to sublimate. I don’t want to take my frustrations out on him; he’s stressed enough and it’s not his fault.

If I feel helpless, I can only imagine how he feels. I can only wait, work, and hope. I don’t want you to lose your brothers. I don’t want to lose my sons.

 

They pulled through. However, it was not without sacrifice. Anders figured it out. Roland’s foot that he’d injured before. He never had any feeling in it after it healed up, which is why he stumbles and walks clumsily when he’s not focused on walking normally. He injured it again on a nail in the barn, if we could guess. The infection was about to become too bad to stop.

Anders had to amputate his leg at the knee. Rand had to be tied down. After everything was settled down, healed… we realized Rand only felt Roland’s pain. None of his own. The boys’ recovery since the amputation has been nothing short of miraculous.

Anders suspects that the reason the boys escaped was that Rand had used blood magic to take his brother’s pain, to learn how to treat it. Because now that he paid attention, he could not just see the scarring on Rand’s hip, but sense something all-too-familiar.

He’s going to have to send for Merrill, I think. But that haunted, heartbroken look on his face makes me worry that he has a worse idea.

I was angry at first. No, that’s not it.

I am upset that Rand stooped to blood magic, but I see that he did it to save his brother. I have a feeling that, had I been in that situation, I might not have had the strength of will to do so. Even to save someone I truly love.

He’s not an abomination. At least, not yet. Anders has been quiet, and I know that means he’s thinking about something he knows I won’t approve of.

 

Merrill has come by to assist me with the children. She and Rand have been talking about many things-- but most of all, any and all terms he might have enacted with the demon. She seems particularly concerned, as she knows that though the price will be paid one way or another.

Anders has been looking outside as if waiting for someone to come. He’s sent no letters, no messengers, so who could he possibly expect to arrive? I can only imagine he expects Hawke to come looking for Merrill, since they’re closer now than ever.

Roland has been quiet. Uncharacteristically so. I am concerned for his emotional state, so I’ve taken to sitting with him. He still loves to hold you, but last night, he started crying. Alarmed, I asked him what I could do, but he just shook his head.

He said he will never let you hurt like this. That, if you are a mage, he will kill anyone who so much as looks at you with malcontent.

I took a step back, mentally. These children have no idea about Tevinter. Maybe one day I’ll tell them. Maybe not.

It’s strange how years ago my lip curled into a sneer at the very idea of willingly, devotedly, protecting a mage. And here I am, with a mage husband, two mage sons. Potentially a mage daughter. And not only do I love each of them, but I would fiercely and desperately keep them all safe.

I don’t suppose I realized just how much I’d changed until that moment. Once my shock subsided, however, I began to wonder what I could do to help him. It would be hard enough for him to walk again-- even with a

I’ve lost the word for it.

Fake limb. Even with a fake limb, he will find it difficult to walk, run, and never mind fighting! In any case. We will find a way to make this work, and I will teach him how to disarm a warrior. If he stumbles into a Templar ever again, I’ll make sure that, even without magic, he knows how to gain the upper hand. I will do my best to teach both boys, but already it seems Hawke and, to an extent, Isabela have already left enough of an impression on Rand.

 

I’ve been speaking more to Rand lately, now that he knows I don’t hate him. Apparently, while I was gone, Anders had told the boys a short version of how I got my markings. That required telling them about Tevinter, about the magisters. And so, realizing my deep-seated hatred of blood magic, Rand hid away his shame out of actual fear that even if Anders didn’t send him out on the streets again, that perhaps I would.

What frightens me is that had I not known and loved these boys, I might have panicked. Years ago, he would have been absolutely right.

Finding out Rand was a mage was definitely a shock, as I’ve never met a mage who did not actively embrace being a mage. Rand is terrified of magic. Petrified, even. So much so that he’s built this mental wall up to shame himself for even considering to use it. I asked him if he was ashamed of being a mage, and if so why that was.

He answered me in a strange way. He said he knew how much Roland failed to control his own magic when he used it, and he had so much talent and skill. Rand wasn’t ashamed of being a mage, he was terrified that if he used magic, he’d get them killed either by drawing attention to them or just blowing them both up.

Anders and Merrill have been teaching him small things, but he’s largely unwilling to try. Any time he tries to use his magic he has an anxiety attack. The one occasion he managed to use magic in that state led to Anders putting him under a sleep spell while Merrill stomped out the flames. The damages were negligible all things considered, but it solidified Rand’s terror.

His lack of control is of his own grooming, and rather than learn, he’s willing to cut off a large part of himself and keep it caged within him like a wild animal, always living in fear, never truly realizing his own potential and becoming free.

It greatly saddens me, as well as frightens me in a base sense, knowing there’s an untrained mage in our house who is refusing to try out of fear of unknown. However, I too have felt the way he does. I understand that right now he just needs safety. Stability. Eventually, he will come around, and we can tackle the problem one step at a time.

In the meantime, he and I have begun brainstorming false limb ideas. PROSTHETICS. I’ve been looking for that word for days now.

 

Hawke has joined us in the endeavor of prosthetic-making. He’s contributed blueprint paper, and shown Rand how to use it. I’ve also tried my hand at it. My handwriting still leaves much to be desired, but both Rand and Hawke have commended my ability to draw dimensions. I’m not quite sure what they mean by that but I am proud. I found two drawings and figured the more… uncivilized-looking one was Rand’s, but it was then that I discovered that Hawke has the artistic capacity of a brick.

_**Year One; Autumn** _

I didn’t think this could get worse. The Warden is here again. As much as I enjoyed their company last time they visited, I immediately sensed that this wasn’t a social or celebratory call. They are taking Rand, and Roland is demanding to go, too. He’s begging, saying he can make it, he’ll crawl if he has to…

The Warden said they’ll send an envoy for him as soon as they can, but Rand must begin training as soon as possible so they can slow the Taint before it takes over him. That had been the price, then. Rand is slowly dying. Even with the Grey Wardens’ help, he will die young.

This isn’t fair. Once I would have blamed the blood magic. Now I blame the Templar who drove this young, madly intelligent boy to seek a demon’s aid to save his only family.

Anders is breaking down. Our family is falling apart and all I can do is stand there with my mouth shut, you strapped on my back from being out in the field. Roland cried and screamed at them as they left, and I had to physically restrain him from trying to hop out after them. Incensed and in proximity to my lyrium, he made to attack me, but realized at the last second that you were on my back.

That’s how he made a man-sized hole in the wall. Hawke, after he closed his gaping maw, sheepishly said he’d send in a construction team. Merrill stayed with Roland and talked to him, but he was closed off. He won’t talk to anyone.

 

I had to try. He still doesn’t show any emotion, just sits in his bed, curled into a ball as best he could with his back against the wall, forehead against his knee. Sometimes I think he cries, but otherwise he’s just become this void.

He did apologize for attacking, though. I told him I wasn’t mad, that I’ve reacted worse in situations before. Rather than joke, ask, or even pretend to be interested, though, he just curled tighter in on himself. He didn’t speak again.

 

I stood outside the door while you slept, listening to Anders talk to Roland. Even with how long I’ve known Anders, there is much I still haven’t heard about the Grey Wardens.

Anders told Roland about how the Grey Wardens were a relatively pleasant group, and that, all things considered, being trained and initiated might actually prolong his life. He talked about the Warden, about his own times. Roland didn’t talk at first, but then he started asking questions.

What was the Circle like? How did he escape? How was solitary really that bad? How many Templars had he killed?

And then the focus switched back to the Grey Wardens when Anders described his arrival there.

What does it mean to be a Grey Warden? What are Darkspawn? How do they happen? What’s a Broodmother? How does Initiation work? What is the Calling? How long do you have when you hear it? Is there no way to reverse it?

How long will Rand live? How will this help Rand? How long until I can join him? You know so many people, can anyone fix my leg so I can go now?

I might have started crying at some point but I was afraid to move. The floor boards might creak and give me away as the horrible eavesdropper I am.

I just wanted to protect these boys. I failed.

 

Anders has asked me if I’d mind watching the farm for a week so he can take Roland to the Warden. I thought he was joking. He’s been relatively sedentary since we found out he was pregnant, and even when he was in amazing shape the journey there and back would take about a week and a half-- and he’d also be carrying Roland, since he can’t walk yet.

Roland has somehow managed to use his staff as a crutch. He’s not going to make it all the way there like that, though. No.

 

I’m so relieved. Anders was actually serious, but before they could leave, these three people who Anders greeted by name showed up. Each of them were burly enough that I couldn’t help but gawk. These were friends from the Grey Wardens, and they were here to escort Roland safely and quickly to join his brother.

Of course, Anders made a vast amount of inquiries, the ones I was most concerned with were concerning how Rand is, what they intend to do with the boys, if they’ll be allowed to come home.

They are children, we were reminded. Our boys are just children. The Warden won’t deprive them of a childhood they desperately need-- but they are working on a plan that will benefit everyone. Perhaps half the year, they should stay there and train, the other half they stay here with us.

The house is so empty now that they’re all gone. Anders wanted them all to stay the night before leaving but Roland is restless without his brother. He said if they didn’t leave now, they’d have to find him on the way back because he was leaving right now. Such an obstinate child.

 

Anders and I have sat and talked about what the training might entail for the boys. Considering they are linked in such a way, there’s no guarantee only Rand has the Taint, it could have spread to Roland due to the blood magic that links them inextricably. It would stand to reason, then, if that’s the case, that if Rand endures the initiation thus prolonging his life in the tradeoff of eventually hearing the Calling… there’s the possibility that even without being initiated himself, Roland may hear it as well.

We’re going to lose both our sons young. I’m going to lose my husband young.

If you ever so much as consider joining the Wardens, I will never forgive you.

 

It’s too quiet here, and we have leftovers now with no hungry, bottomless pits to devour them. I don’t know how to fill this silence. You’re our sole source of hope right now, knowing that we won’t hear back from the boys for at least two weeks, and even then the the Grey Wardens will not prioritize sending a messenger all the way out to the middle of nowhere.

I find myself worrying about things that has Anders simultaneously laughing at me and worrying as well. Are they feeding them enough? Will they work around Rand’s reaction to onions so his stomach doesn’t cramp up? Will they make sure Roland’s comfortable? Will they let the boys sleep in the same room?

Anders has demanded I stop and just breathe for a while but I can’t stand the quiet. I bloody hate feeling helpless! I have absolutely no control of this situation and there’s nothing I can do to help my boys.

I was a WARRIOR once, you know? I could be there, protecting them through their training so they live to HEAR the calling. Dying by age 30 isn’t as bad as dying at age 10! I can’t stand this!

I’m going to work outside.

 

~~**YEAR TWO: ANDERS** ~~

**_Year Two; Spring_ **

The boys are home! The Wardens have managed to apply a prosthetic to Roland that’s mechanical and responds to force magic. And oh my god, my sons are SO MUCH BIGGER and they’re SO STRONG NOW and I’m a BASKET OF EMOTIONS.

Fenris has been sparring with the boys and I’ve been watching, trying to keep the tears to a minimum but they’re safe! And they’re home! And they’re going to be okay.

In the fall, they have to go back, but in the meantime our house is full again! And the anniversary of when they came here is upon us. I think I’ll treat that as their birthday, since they don’t remember theirs.

With how powerful these boys are shaping up to become, I’m concerned that next year when they come back they’ll be stronger than I was even at my peak.

Rand has come out of his shell a lot. His voice is strong, and he no longer looks down at his feet all the time. It’s good to see those pretty eyes again, but the determination behind them is a startling difference. Rand isn’t frightened anymore. He’s resigned. He’s ready. He’s angry, but has an actual target for his rage.

He’s been learning magic, but he admits that despite all his attempts he couldn’t get the hang of creation magic. I reassured him that there were things I wasn’t cut out for either, like entropy magic. He seemed very relieved of that.

When I asked what he’s been training to do, he said he’s learning stealth. He’s shaping up to be a fine rogue, or so his trainer says. I don’t recognize the name, but I’ve come to the realization that most of the people who trained me or fought with me are likely dead. I haven’t considered that reality for a while.

He very eagerly told me about how he’s been helping the healer bandage people up, and that even though he can’t do it with magic, he’s been touted as quite the level-headed and medically inclined prodigy. He said as soon as he’s deemed ready, he’s going to be assigned to a very experienced team that needs a healer. He’s been brewing healing and revival potions hand over fist in preparation.

I’m giving him some of my old books to take with him, so he can study up when he feels like it. That is, if he doesn’t gorge himself on all my books before then. He’s always been a voracious reader, and he remarked that I have better selection than the library at the Wardens, but…

He hasn’t had much time to sing, he says, but he does hum when he’s tending to patients. It puts them at ease. He wants to learn some of the songs they sing in the mess hall-- but that worries me. Most of those could possibly make Isabela blush, and that’s a notion that borders on insanity. How closely are they guarding my sons so they don’t grow up talking like sailors?

Roland’s wit rivals mine now. The Wardens will do that to you. He’s more wry than I ever was, but he’s also apologetic. The wealth of emotion he is able to express is startling. It’s like he’s his twin’s opposite. He’s not afraid at all to speak his mind, to laugh or cry, or to admit when he’s wrong and ask how to change or improve.

He said the Wardens was certainly a lesson in humility because though he’s got a lot of potential in magic, he had no idea how raw and unkempt he was until he was surrounded by people who were better than him.

The child thought I and the rest of Hawke’s company were outliers. I don’t know what to think about that.

I was fascinated by his new skillset, and he explained that there is a force mage in the Wardens who is maybe four years older than him-- WHY ARE THERE SO MANY CHILDREN IN THE WARDENS NOW!!-- who saw him struggling to contain elemental magic and immediately realized he was having trouble constraining his raw potential. Force magic is so much easier for him because it allows him to not wrestle with his wild, feral reserves.

The added bonus of his prosthetic responding to it, giving him a way to fine-tune his control, giving him a lifelike connection to it so he can function well…

They’re going to have to replace it when he gets back. He’s growing so fast! He told me the mechanic makes frequent trips to the Wardens. His three daughters always tag along, and the youngest one, who is 8, follows Roland constantly. He seems so annoyed by it, but when I ask why he doesn’t ask her to leave he just fidgets and says it makes him feel important. He pretends he’s "Uncle Hawke on one of his adventures" and I don’t know what to think about that.

I feel compelled to keep up with information about these girls. He only calls the mechanic Messere, of course. But the girls from eldest to youngest are Nia, Gina, and "B". He only ever calls her B. And that’s adorable.

I can’t help but imagine Roland running around with this little girl and beating the absolute shit out of dummies together. I hope their little party grows. Maybe Rand can be their healer.

I take that back. Rand seems way too anxious to join the fun. I hope he gets over that… In the meantime, he’s been telling me about all these warriors who come in to check on him and how they’re "so fascinating" as he blushes. It seems he’s much more tuned to interacting with adults, but I just fear it will lead to problems interacting with his peers when they’re all grown.

On the other hand, I certainly was able to sigh and nod along as he talked about the merits of warrior men. This boy could teach Varric about poetry, by the way. He said that the men, shirtless with fresh bandages fit to their "sculped, sizable, dreamy" muscles, or that amazing physique where the shoulders are broad and the waist narrow. It reminds me of myself.

I told him to be wary of men older than him, even as he got older himself. He nodded emphatically, said the healer who trained him guarded him like a "literal hawk." I love that these children differentiate between literal and "uncle" I laugh every time.

 

I swear Hawke and Merril have some sort of extrasensory way to guess when something’s happening here, because they showed up this morning and gushed over the boys’ and your growth almost as much as we have.

Forgive us for not writing much, if it happens we don’t. I forgot how busy we are with the boys home-- and with further company…

 

It’s been a strange night. Fenris is asleep on the couch, you’re snoozing on his chest. The boys, Merrill, and Hawke are in the guest room talking, drawing-- and i swear if theyre being taught how to give each other tattoos i’ll flog every one of them.

I’ve been getting little bouts of depression and anxiety. The dreams get worse sometimes and it sets me on edge. I’ve been easy to startle, whereas usually that’s not the case.

I’m scared.

I know that’s not going to fit whatever "brave papa" narrative you’ll hear, but I am. I’m also a bit too honest for my own good, but i usually wrap it in wit so it’s less abrasive going down.

I won’t lie to you. I don’t have the energy to joke about it right now. And as much as I want to wallow in self-pity, I’m not a waifish character from Varric’s books.

I started this journal because I wanted something to remain. I wanted you to grow up and know me, even if you don’t remember me. I don’t want to imagine that I won’t be here to teach you to talk, to walk, to write, to read…

I am an idiot, yes, but I know that just because I don’t want to die doesn’t mean I won’t. I never know when time will run out and I want to cherish moments with you and Fenris and the boys as much as i can.

What if you don’t remember my face? My voice? I

I carried you. Felt your heartbeat. Birthed you (agh i will never speak of that again, though). You are a part of me-- the only part of me that will survive.

I can sit here and internalize my mortality all I want, but i’m sure it’s depressing and boring.

I just… please know, no matter who you want to be, or what you want to be, I am proud of you. I am so, so proud of you and I can only hope that somehow I can see you grown up, myself.

 

_**Year Two; Winter** _

The boys waited as long as they could to go back to the Wardens, but Roland can’t walk easily in cold weather because of the prosthetic. Hot weather doesn’t exactly feel good either, but luckily he keeps it from overheating his skin during the summer with magic if need be.

I finally had to tell them it was time, since snow was coming and frostbite is Bad. I asked Rand how bad amputations were over there and the boys gave me a very haunted look and got packing.

I know I did a good job keeping them from feeling too much of what I was doing when I had to amputate Roland’s leg, but… Rand, and his chilly calm about everything medicinal, he looked like he was about to pass out.

My faith in the humane conditions of medical practice wavers. What have these boys seen?

Ok, on second thought… i’m not the least surprised.

 

_**Year Three; Spring** _

YOU SAID YOUR FIRST WORDS. Your father and I are sad, but the boys are elated. You remember them-- which is a given, considering Fenris and I have gone out of our way to keep talking about them to you in hopes you’d remember them.

But you RECOGNIZED them. As SOON as Roland came in, he said “Hi, Dads!” and you scream-laughed and crawled as fast as you could. Roland bent down to pick you up and Rand came in. And you

“BOVAAAAAZ” Which I guess means brothers, which is what i called them, was your brothers but. Not Dad, not Daddy, not Papa. Brothers. Brothers.

I’m not jealous. Okay, I kinda am, but it’ll happen. Eventually.

 

You’ve begun to walk now. Maker help us all.

 

Fenris has taken to reading with you. The boys call you Lu or Lulu and you love it. I call you Little Lu.

 

You’re growing up too quickly.

 

_**Year Three; Summer** _

You set the bed on fire, scared the absolute shit out of Rand. Now the boys and I are trying to teach you, a literal toddler, how to not set things on fire. If you do it from this point forward, I’ll have to punish you.

Honestly, though, I’m glowing from pride.

Fenris… I’m surprised. Your father has suffered so much from the hands of mages who wronged him-- that’s as much as I’ll say-- but he’s just as proud of you as I. You hobbled over to him after we showed you a trick and said “Daddy, daddy look!” and he looked down to see you making little lights and he just melted and couldn’t even speak.

And I cried because that was the cutest thing ever. And when his brands lit up, you oooh’d and awwww’d and touched his hand, trying to wipe off the lights, or something. He laughed and picked you up and you traced them and said “Daddy’s pretty! So pretty!” and he just. He just laughed. No sadness, no pain, he just smiled at you. And then I cried more. God I hope I’m not pregnant again somehow.

Later that night, the boys were crushing fireflies and wiping their glowing guts on one another-- you were doing it too, trying to look like Fenris’s brands.

You want to glow so much. But considering your father’s past as well as mine…. Fuck, please never glow. Please please please let there be no reason for you to glow.

 

_**Year Four; Winter** _

It’s begun.

I love you. Both of you. I’m sorry.

 

This is a lot harder than I anticipated.

Fenris hasn’t noticed yet. I haven’t been sleeping well in any case.

I have to go. Soon. Now.

 

You looked up at me with those beautiful green eyes today. You asked “Papa, what’s wong.” and I just broke.

I think Fenris knows now.

 

You’re asleep. I’ve packed the barest essentials. Fenris is waiting for me to finish writing.

It breaks my heart to know I won’t be back. I won’t see you grow up, see who you choose to be-- I won’t see the boys teach you how to fight. I won’t be able to teach you how to control your magic more-- That fucking kills me. I wanted to be there for you! I wanted to give you something I’d always wanted, something I’d envied in Bethany. Now I won’t see you through hardly any of it.

I won’t be there to tease you about your first crush. I won’t be there to heal your first broken bone. I won’t be there to calm you and explain menstruation and

I hate this. I hate everything. This isn’t fucking fair.

I keep waiting for this to be some kind of joke but it’s just getting worse already. I’ve got to go even though the cold is hell on my joints nowadays. I’ve got to go alone.

Please never let it be said that I don’t love you. Kill anyone who says I didn’t want to stay. I would gladly suffer everything bad in my life tenfold over again just for one more year. One more. And then I’d do it all over again for another and another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not done yet please be patient with me and if anyone's reading please comment. it not only means the world to me but like.... one of the reasons this chapter took so long is because i feel no one's interested and in that case ive been just working on it for me. 
> 
> I'm somewhat of a social creature but if i feel i'm screaming into the void, i stop. I've got other fics people want me to write and I took this break for slightly self-indulgent reasons but also in some hope that someone out there needed this story like I do.


	3. ACT THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know how to say this, but you're scarier than your dads."
> 
> "Didn't know glowing was hereditary. Remind me to never piss you off."
> 
> "Healing was in your blood. I'm not surprised to find you in this dusty old clinic."
> 
> "I can see Fenris in you, to a startling degree, but what truly comes to mind when I see you is Anders. It's in the set of your jaw, the way you pout. The temper, of course, but... most notably, your love for wearing feathers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Daddy, if you hated Papa so much... how did you fall in love?"
> 
> The look on Fenris' face morphs into something soft and beautiful, bittersweet.
> 
> "Slowly. But deeply, irrevocably." When Lupa went to ask what that meant, he clarified. "Unable to be changed." He paused. "It was frightening at first, but I've never regretted falling in love with him."
> 
> Lupa was quiet. "I miss Papa."
> 
> Fenris held her closer to him, the silence in the house crushing him as he tried to stifle the sob his child's words tried to drag from him. "Me too, little Lu."

I keep waiting for him to come home. You keep asking where he is. I can’t answer. I worry about him making the journey all alone. I want to sell the farm and go after him, but… my roaming days are over. I can’t uproot your entire life, throw away everything he and I built… 

I keep staring at the door. I should have seen this coming. He would jolt and look around sometimes. Like he was hearing something. I thought he was just jumpy because you shocked him trying to glow again. Or perhaps because of the lack of sleep.

It’s too early to read this to you. Admittedly it was too early for me to read it. I’ve been a mess, unable to respond to anything you say. I don’t know how to keep going.

I have to figure it out soon. I can’t raise you like this. 

I just want him to come back home. 

 

You sleep in our bed now. It’s so quiet and empty without his laugh. You asked why he’s gone, did you do something wrong and I feel eviscerated. I said he had to go, that he didn’t want to, that he loved you very much. You said he’ll come home then, probably with the boys in the summer.

I cried. I didn’t want to cry in front of you. You hugged me. You said “It’s okay, Daddy.” but it wasn’t okay. I don’t know how I’ll ever be okay again. 

Before. Long ago. I promised I’d go with him. I told him he wouldn’t die alone. That I’d go with him because he was scared. He was terrified to go.

But you changed everything. I love you so much, and I’d never leave you all alone. But I feel so much guilt. I let him go. I let him go and I want him back. I need him to come home now. 

 

You couldn’t sleep. I told you a story about when your father and I were younger. Before we were amenable. About how we used to hate each other, and how it changed so gradually. I told her about how we were married. Just he and I. He was gorgeous, handsome. How I had felt, knowing he was mine, that we’d never have to be apart again.

I told you about when he told me he was pregnant. I told you everything. Even about how terrified he was in birthing. How he broke my hand and three of my fingers with his grip. I’m amused that he left that detail out, but to be fair he was right that there was a lot going on. 

I reread this journal frequently, memorizing the way his script curves, the way he wrote my name. The way he wrote yours. 

 

The boys came early. They handed me a parcel and said they were going outside with Lupa. I knew right then what had happened. But I still opened the parcel, sitting down at the table. 

The Warden enclosed a notice of ownership of a chunk of land. They’d offered it to Anders years ago, but he’d refuted it. Now they were making the offer again, but without such an option to refuse. The note enclosed, in their terrible handwriting, was almost illegible, but Rand was able to decode it enough for me to know what it said. The property would make a fine inheritance for Lupa, since the boys were well-accounted for between our farm and the Wardens. 

I don’t think it’s hit me yet just. There’s more to the parcel but I can’t

I don’t have the strength to read it just yet.

* * *

 

~~ Note, moisture stained with deep indentations where the sides of the page were held too tightly, creased throughout where it was crumpled and smoothed. Some of the words are pressed deeply into the paper, and some are shaky and barely recognizable.  ~~

Fenris,

You’ve always been stronger than me. I wish more than anything that I could take back this part of myself so I could come home to you again, but… I couldn’t stay, and I can’t change what’s already happened. I couldn’t stay and… please forgive me. If I didn’t leave, you would have had to kill me or see what I’d become, and I couldn’t do that to you or Lupa. 

I miss the farm. I miss our warm bed, and the way your warmth still clings to my dreams. I miss Lupa’s laugh and the way she smiles when you glow for her. Those memories are the only pleasant thing I have left. I cling to it at night, fighting sleep because of the nightmares. I miss how you looked so proud of her, doing her lessons well. You’ve come such a long way, and I find myself crying about it sometimes.

Fenris, I’m so scared but I’m trying to be strong. This was a future I was doomed to long ago and I always knew I’d have to face it. I just never imagined having so much to leave behind. And I feel so guilty for what this will do-- what it’s already doing-- to all of you.

When I told the boys, Rand started crying and Roland just shut down and… They wanted to go with me, but I had the Warden make sure they wouldn’t. I feel so cold, so angry that this is their future, too. 

If there’s any shred of mercy in this world, I hope I’ll see you again. Somewhere warm, with open air and grass. Like our home… but where neither of us hurt or ever have to pretend to be strong ever again.

I’m so sorry, and I love you both. You’ve made me a proud husband, a proud father. You’ve given me more than I could ever deserve, more than I could have asked for. I wish with all my heart I could have done the same.

* * *

 

Once upon a time, Anders and I were enemies held in a bind of cordiality by your uncle Hawke. We overcame that, almost out of spite of each other. We grew together, our paths intertwined inextricably.

It’s torture to see your papa’s handwriting. He knew I wouldn’t need a signature. I’ve been reading his sloppy penmanship for much longer than the boys have been alive. Every letter he’d written for me, first to teach, then to share secrets, and finally to confess-- I have them somewhere, I know it. 

It’s torture to see his already shoddy legibility slip. He didn’t have the decency to write with dry eyes. How does he expect me to read it with dry eyes? 

I can’t keep waiting by the door like this. He’s not coming back. I want to be angry, I want to kill someone. I want to make someone pay for this but there’s nothing there. There is no enemy, no ultimate evil that I can defeat to avenge him.

And no matter how angry I get, how much I cry… he won’t come back. 

I at once crave and dread the moment when it finally feels real. I want to cling to him forever. I want to keep that one last part of him alive in me-- but at the same time, I know I’ve got to move on eventually. For you, for the boys. 

Eventually, but not today. Not tomorrow.

I’m glad the boys are here to help me. Right now, we all need each other.

 

Sometimes when I write, I can see some of his influence. My hand moves much as his does, though I’m still notably clumsy. With him as a teacher, grace was hardly a likely target, just efficiency and speed. 

I hope I never change that. Is it unhealthy to want to keep that? I don’t care.

I haven’t let you read the letter, nor have I read you the journal. You know, however, that he left me a note. The boys let on about that. Why did he not write one for you? Could he not keep it together for just one more page? You’re sad and angry, especially since I won’t share mine. You miss him, and I’m concerned you won’t believe me when I say he loved you and didn’t want to leave. He’d sent no proof.

 

The boys are in on my plan. They take her out to lessons, I study his handwriting and replicate it.

I know he loves her. She’s not ready to lose him yet, though. I don’t care if it’s a lie.

I think, deep down, I need this too.

I’ll have them tuck it under her pillow as she’s asleep. I’ll write it in the ink he always used, with the same pen he’s had forever. 

I’ll keep him alive until we can both handle the truth.

* * *

 

~~ Folded pages are tucked into the rest of the journal. Pages and pages upon pages of letters from Anders detailing an epic adventure that Varric would envy. It was all fairy tales, barely any of it believable. Saving people, slaying dragons, mixed of retellings of tiny true stories that he’d shared with Fenris or the boys before.  ~~

* * *

 

_**Lupa Anderson, Year Seventeen.** _

I can recite the first one line by line. “Hello, my princess, my little Lu. I know you’re sad that I’m such a long way from home right now, but I am always thinking of you. Let me tell you about my adventures.”

I can remember how excited I was, bringing it to Father and screaming at the top of my lungs in the early morning. Gave him a heart attack. And then, when he’d calmed down, I’d not even asked him to read it to me, I was too busy bragging that I, too, had received a secret letter from Papa. 

I think I had Rolly or Rand read it to me, matter of fact. I told them their letters would come in eventually too if they were good and waited nicely for it. And since Father was always crying around that time, I didn’t really question why my brothers did it too. I just assumed they were too impatient to wait for him.

I still cried about it too, even so.

I didn’t hear the truth until just recently, about the Calling. Not to say I didn’t realize years ago that Papa was not writing me a letter every week and sneaking home to slip it under my pillow if I was good and went to sleep early. 

It was little details that tipped me off. First I thought Papa was just a compulsive liar. The things he said he was doing-- it was stuff only a child could believe, but I cherished those stories as a child. I’d needed those stories. I still do.

Now, however, I credit the man who gave me years with my Papa I wouldn’t have had otherwise. The injustice of being lied to stung, I’ll admit, and when I first realized the little quirks in Father’s writing that slipped in here and there… I was angry. But I still read them. 

They never outright hid the truth from me. And even when I was young, I knew Papa wasn’t coming back. That was why those letters were so important to me, why I still have them, tattered though they might be. 

I grew up thinking Papa was a hero. And he was. He left because he had to save the world, just not necessarily the way the letters told me. I may have lost him long ago (I wish I could remember his face, his voice) but I still had the chance to grow up knowing him, loving him.

I asked Father why he had to lie. He said he had to lose Papa, but that didn’t mean I had to lose him too. 

And now… It’s come full circle, hasn’t it? I’m holding the journal Papa wrote for me. Father dusted it off and handed it to me carefully, so as not to let the other contents fall out. I’m leaving in three weeks, on a pilgrimage to explore on my own with Rand and Rolly in tow. He said to take it with me, however, there was a warning:

Uncle Varric is never to touch this book. Father warned me that if he ever got his hands on it, I’d be hard pressed to get it back, and Papa wouldn’t want his life made into yet another dramatic tragedy.

As for Father, he’s spry and witty as ever. I told him since his hair was already white he should just lose it to show his age. I can’t remember his response but that’s more because I tried not to listen. He can’t win if I don’t hear him!

Also, his wit has turned into grit. Just an old warrior, screwing up his back tending a farm. Gave me his sword!! Told me I was to wear it at all times to dissuade people from touching me. Of course, it’s heavy as hell, so as soon as we’re out of sight I’m giving it to Rolly’s girlfriend. She’s strong enough to wield it. I’d rather use Papa’s staff, which was sent to me for my coming of age by the Warden. Cleaned, reinforced. I take good care of it.

* * *

 

~~ Note written on rough paper in sloppy handwriting in glittering cobalt ink. Rand is incredibly dramatic, and it shows in every single word he wrote. There’s even drama in the margins, how he managed that, no one knows.  ~~

_** Rand’s Grand Stand on Romance: ** _

Growing up in the Wardens isn’t all that bad. Aside from the lackluster food, the stench of copper and rot that never quite subsides, and the never-ending nightmares and constant existential crises, it’s very homey. Rolly and I have had an interesting life, to say the least.

Puberty for us both was hilarious, looking back. We were gangly fucks, and unless we outright stated that we were adopted, our claims of being Anders’ sons was believed solely from the striking resemblance, with the height, snark, and terrible luck.

But the crushes. Rolly and I have very little in common, truly. He’d go for the women, but I’d fancy the men-- but it became clear all the same that though we couldn’t agree on anything, we could agree that we had a similar type.

That being said, I at least have subtlety. So let me tell you about Rolly’s romantic ineptitude. As serialized for posterity.

Roland, if you’re reading this, I’m not sorry. You ate the last of Father’s scones and didn’t even split it with me. You deserve this.

The One with the Raven Hair, Lavellan Force Mage and Tutor, Lyda:

I have no idea if that was her real name. She told me once that she changed her name when she joined the Wardens because she never agreed with who her family wanted her to be. She was a lot like Papa-- and I think that was one of the things that drew Rolly to her. The other thing was her stature. Slender, graceful, but her muscles were toned and she was so quick on her feet. Swinging a staff around will do that to you, I’ve been told.

I’ll stick to knives and archery, thank you. 

Lyda was the person who taught Rolly force magic, who helped him control himself, and ultimately who he spent the most of his time with when he got too old to play with B anymore. It’s no surprise, thusly, that she was his first legitimate crush.

Meanwhile, I was drooling over men, sometimes nigh-literally, as I bandaged them up, marveling at the musculature and.

This is supposed to be Roland’s shame, not my own. I’ll try not to digress again. 

Lyda, in addition to being in the middle of her Change, as Papa called it, was asexual. Not that Rolly would have known that, because Lyda was the most awkward girl when it came to this. She had no idea how to handle it, especially since all his attempts at impressing her were met with the obvious intent of “This is my little dorky brother, and I am his protector.” 

Lyda eventually had to let him down easy. She was so sweet about it, too. I’m proud that Rolly took it like a champ, too. If "by a champ" you mean locking me out of my room so he could write sulky poetry in private. To his merit, outside of the room he never said a word, never gave any indication that the rejection stung.

It took a couple days for the heartache to wear off and then he was back to her for training. And now it was painfully obvious that he was no longer trying to show off.

Yikes, Rolly.

This concludes this note, Rand’s Grand Stand on Romance, Lyda edition.

* * *

 

~~ Roland’s handwriting is neat, lettering small. His ink is plain, unceremonious. The words are pressed into the paper as if they were written in a red haze of malice. ~~

_**Rolly’s Rebuttal of Revenge** _

You started saying people’s names in your sleep. It was very uncomfortable. Especially when I realized half the names were ones I knew and the other half were from those stories you write in your spare time. 

Considering none of those characters are human, I worry about you.

When Lulu came to you for dating advice, I tried to interject and she tried to say she’d rather talk to you, but then she thought better of it. Because I at least talk to my crushes instead of smolder at them from across the room. 

Stop taking dating advice from father. It’s not working for you. Your knowledge of bandages and leeches will do nothing for your love life either.

Fuck off with your whole shit.

* * *

 

_**Rand’s Grand Stand on Romance:** _

First off, your alliterative title is cringeworthy. At least my rhyming scheme is clever and not redundant. "Revenge" is not necessary, as "Rebuttal" denotes a response. It’s worded as awkwardly as your attempts at flirting.

Yes, ATTEMPTS. You cannot possibly hope to make any girl swoon unless she’s attracted to dorky, stammering messes. Why do you think I smolder? The moment I try to talk, the stutter comes back because Guys. It’s a shame you didn’t get any of that tact; I seem to have all of it between us two.

Ugh, the most hideous thing about your Rebuttal, however, is that it was absolutely useless. Please at least tell an entertaining story. And as for Lulu, she’s more than equipped to woo whoever she wants AND THAT IS A PROBLEM.

Seriously, why’d you give her advice!! That’s not even cool!! Do you really want our baby sister flirting with our friends!!! How many arms are you going to break-- and how many am I going to have to splint incorrectly!!!!

Like I said, you have no subtlety. So fuck off with YOUR whole shit. Nughumping dolt.

* * *

 

_**Rand’s Grand Stand on Romance:** _

Considering my last venture into recording Rolly’s failures focused less on his exploits and more on responding to his less than graceful addendum to my previous chronicle, I shall make up for it now. 

Lupa, know that for your pilgrimage, for which we will be present, there will be another member to our little party, if she can get someone to watch her forge.

Let me preface by saying this is without a doubt the most hilarious thing ever, and though I’m still laughing so hard I can barely hold my pen, I must admit I’m also slightly jealous.

Lady of the Forge, Half-Elf Warrior Mechanic "B":

I shall do Uncle Varric proud. Or probably not because I don’t have the energy now that laughter has subsided.

I remember when we first came to the Wardens how B followed Rolly around everywhere. It was comical and frankly, looking back, adorable. Little girl in pretty dresses hefting wooden swords, vying for Rolly’s approval. She was terrified of certain bugs, I remember Rolly walloping a boy for throwing them on her.

I wish I’d teased more. I remember Anders’ knowing look when we told him about B. I’m glad we had him for the time we did, however brief. I know whoever I choose he’d be proud as long as I’m happy.

I digress yet again.

B was little, with blond hair and deep brown eyes. She had that prominent nose, and I know Rolly always had a thing for Elven women. He just found a beauty in them-- Father blames Aunt Merrill.

However, Rolly’s true Type is muscles. A type I share, sadly. ~~I’d admire the biceps, the shoulders, and that "V" of musculature just below the belly~~ \-- ANYWAY Rolly’s weaknesses were similar. The shoulders, the biceps, yes… but he loves thick muscular thighs that could dent steel.

This little girl didn’t have a chance.

Well, B had two sisters. The eldest took care of their father, the middle one joined the Wardens (sweet girl, too) and B went to stay with her mother, a Lavellan. She came back a few years ago, tattooed up, eyes bright as ever, but unhappy.

Her dad taught her the forge, how to build things, passed on all his knowledge to her and she soaked it up. She felt more at home with him than she had among her mother’s folk. She was too much like her father.

She would hold down the shop while he made trips up to the Wardens to check on Rolly and some of the others. She wanted to go along once or twice, to visit her Warden sister, but her eldest sister was bitter and demanded she stay to keep shop.

Up until recently, their father’s shop was thriving despite his failing health. When he died, B’s eldest sister took the inheritance and ran away. B was left with next to nothing and had to build it back up from the ground. This meant she had to take on the repair and maintenance work first, then move on to bigger projects when she had the capital for it.

She had to break the news to us here at the Wardens, because he was something of an uncle figure to us all. And of course, her sister in the Wardens took it hard. It was the Wardens sister who broke the news to Rolly. He was grieving the loss same as her, as the man had been there for him for so long. Had given him lectures when Papa and Father weren’t there to. Had given him advice and counsel when he was scared to ask anyone else.

Well, I saw B as she was leaving the Wardens, and followed her. She recognized me straight-away, and I noted that she looked at my feet before her expression changed. She greeted me by name, but I knew by that point that the change was because I was the wrong twin. I am still amused that the lack of a scar on my face didn’t tip her off first.

Well, I guess scars can be hidden nowadays. Rolly might be vain enough to do that if he didn’t currently think it so “dashing.”

Anyway, she and I caught up briefly, but she was still in mourning, too, and overworked and stressed as she was. Well, I was in the market for new daggers anyway, so I accompanied her there. She asked questions that were thinly veiled inquiries about Rolly. I answered them modestly, biting my cheek to keep from grinning.

After my purchase, I excused myself and thought, planned. Waited.

Roland needed some repairs done, and his mechanic was dead. I let him grieve as long as I could before I suggested checking in at the bazaar. He’d been fixing himself for long enough he needed some honest tuning up, and just. He’s not a very good tinkerer. He’s been tripping on everything because he’s got it weighted and tightened and he doesn’t clean all the grit out of it often enough.

Granted, we don’t have much time to clean that shit out. It needs to be covered, but even then, it’s a hassle.

Anyway, I drug his sorry ass to the bazaar where B was bound to be working. 

She saw me first as she was pausing from hammering something out. Then her eyes drifted. Hate to say it but Rolly filled out bigger than me. I am built for stealth and speed. He’s built for hitting someone hard with a metal ball covered in spikes at the end of a big stick.

I saw the confusion on her face as she studied his. I moved aside to see his face and I cannot exaggerate how hysterical it was.

He did not immediately recognize her, he couldn’t have. The two of them stared each other in the eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time before I cleared my throat and said "Pardon me, miss B but could you clean this oaf’s foot? He stepped in nug shit and it’s all in the workings."

He hit me hard enough my ears rung, but B and I were laughing hard enough to dull the pain. 

Later that night, the awkward fuck came to me needing to talk. He apologized for hitting me, knew it hurt. I’d gotten it healed, so I wasn’t worried so much. 

He needed to gush about her. She was his type to the very point: A smith with shoulders that could wreck a door frame, arms and thighs that could throttle a nug. He’d never seen an elf, or half-elf, with so much muscle, and he loved her tattoos, he said he wanted to trace them with his fingers. Even the way her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy plait. Grease, oil, and soot stains on every scrap of clothes, every patch of skin-- and he was in love.

I laughed, of course, and asked him if he still thought she was an annoying little girl. He yelped "She’d break me in half if I said as much!" Then he got a look on his face that made me nauseous. "There’s a thought."

Hope I’ll be as lucky as he, one day. 

This concludes my Grand Stand. Sister, when we travel, please keep me from throwing myself at the first strong man I see. Especially keep Rolly and B from playing matchmaker. You, I trust.

 

Farewell,

Rand Anderson

P.S. Please, just because I said I trust you, do not take it as an invitation to set me up with someone. I’m gay and lonely, but I’m not quite lonely enough to throw myself blindly into a stranger’s affection, whether they have your seal of approval or not.

 

* * *

 

 

Blondie Junior,

I know you have some real estate out in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, but I’d like to remind you that your Uncle Hawke and Auntie Merrill are very much willing to put you up in their little manor. 

I say this mostly because I, myself, still live in the bar. And I don’t know if your pops told you this but his “property” here in Kirkwall is a little worse for wear. The usual, ceiling falling in, old bones being gnawed by rats. The cellar’s still in tact, but thanks to me it’s mostly empty. Waste not.

That being said, if you’re absolutely serious about staying there for your little pilgrimage… Okay, no, you’d be better off staying where Anders’ clinic was in Darktown. And with how mages are treated here, I’d feel much better about you laying low down there. I can guard it easier, and your brothers will have more room too.

Of course, Hawke and Merrill are still on the table…

Or, I don’t know, stay in the bar! Literally anything but that decrepit pile of rocks and bones. Anything.

 

Sincerely,

Uncle Varric

 

* * *

 

 

My Little Lu,

Kirkwall is very dangerous for mages. I know your intention is to retrace your Papa’s footsteps, but please avoid being abducted by Templars. I am entirely too old to come down there and blow it up again. If they so much as look at you, I will come down there and kill them all, one by one. Slowly.

I am trusting your brothers and B to keep you safe. I know I have taught you to be more than capable, but Kirkwall is a place where you cannot simply watch your own back. 

Listen to your Uncle Hawke, Aunt Merrill, and Uncle Varric. Remember what I said about Varric. Go nowhere alone, stay out of alleys. ~~Stay away from slavers.~~   ~~Kill any slavers you encounter~~ Arrange the deaths of any slavers you encounter, but make sure you are not caught.

I am so proud of you. With every day, you remind me more of your Papa-- especially when you get into that stubborn mood. 

As terrified as I am to let you go, I know that going with you would not help you stay safe. I’m not the warrior I once was. Powerful and quick though I might be, the toll on my body is too much. The pains are immense just from everyday processes… The probability of slowing you down is higher than the probability of my keeping you safe. 

I’d love to be there to give you guidance, to reminisce, to recount. But my time as an adventurer has passed. I have the farm. I have your Papa’s old letters. I have the life we built, the home we raised you in, the memories engraved in every board and stone. 

And you have your future. And whatever you make of that future, I will love you all the same.

 

* * *

~~ On the final pages of the journal is a note in elegant, well-practiced script.  ~~

_**Lupa Anderson, Year 19.** _

Papa,

I wish I’d had more time with you. I wish I could remember your voice, or what your face looked like. I’m told often that I look just like you, but with Dad’s eyes. However, I’ve also been told I have your “Temper.” Scared the shit out of Uncle Hawke.

I know, from what everyone else has told me, that you loved me. That you would be proud of me, that you would have so much to say. I know that you’d have cried like a baby at Roland’s wedding. Father did. 

I know that much, but I’ve spent all of my adult life wanting to know more. It’s bordered on obsession. But I think Rand is right. It’s time for me to move on. I couldn’t for the longest time. There was still space in the journal. It felt like… by stopping, it’s truly letting you die. But now that Dad’s gone too… it’s time to let you rest.

It’s time for all of us to rest. Darktown has a new healer. Roland is going to be a father soon. Rand is finally dating someone.

You’re not alone anymore. Dad’s with you. One day, perhaps, I’ll see you again. I wonder if I’ll recognize you, or you me. I wonder if you were right, about there being a world without pain where you could be with Dad. I hope so. 

You’ve shaped me into the person I am. Through your tales, anecdotes, and the influence you left on your friends, I’ve grown into the woman I am.

I hope you-- both of you-- are as proud of me as I am of you. 

Thank you.

 

Your daughter, 

Lupa “Blondie” Anderson

 

* * *

* * *

 

The journal is bound with a braided leather cord. It sits on a dusty shelf, just high enough to be out of reach of prying dwarves. However, it has still managed to end up into the wrong hands today. 

“Uncle Varric? I was told to never let you see this journal, lest you make it into another story.”

“You know I’d never do--”

“Uncle.”

“ _Anymore_. I was going to say Anymore.”

“I’d like you to write a story. Based on Papa.”

There was a tense pause. “Blondie, why the change in heart?”

“I know this story is personal to me. It’s hardly something I can pass down. I might do something similar from my own perspective if I have children-- but, Uncle, there’s someone out there who needs this story too.”

Varric looked up at the girl and smiled. Carefully he accepted the book. 

Lupa felt her eyes sting from tears. “There’s only so many times I can read it.” She said.

“I’ll give it back soon.” He promised. “I won’t harm a page.”

“Make the ending happy.” She said. “Make them happy.”

Varric’s eyes were misty, too, she noted. “Kid… they _are_  happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, frends!
> 
> Finally finished!
> 
> Now i can return to my original works and ut fics that ppl are still waiting for lmao.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be wrapped up in a second chapter. Bear in mind that I'm writing this all on my breaks at work, which is to say I don't get too much done per day. Some love and affection in the comments might make me more excited to post it though ^.^
> 
> please stick around until this is finished. as sweet and lovely as this is so far, i want to make you all cry like i have been when i wrote the notes.


End file.
